Dark Carnival
by PyroYoshi
Summary: Trevor is about to undergo the most difficult, most horrifying mission in the history of GTA: taking Wade to the 2013 Los Santos Gathering of the Juggalos. As expected, things are not going to go so well. He gets Micheal and Franklin to help neutralize the threat. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Last night, while under the influence of methamphetamine, Trevor had made a promise to someone. The only problem was that now he couldn't remember what it was or whom he had made it to.

He racked his brain to try and remember, but to no avail. It couldn't have been Michael or Franklin, as he hadn't talked to either of them in a few days. He supposed it could have been Lamar, but that was unlikely.  
Since he hadn't done anything significant yesterday, he figured he must have promised to help repaint Ron's living room, or something equally mundane.

The only way to know for sure was to pay his nervous, unhinged neighbor a visit.

Trevor made his way out of his own trailer (which was filthy again, as it hadn't been cleaned since he had returned Patricia to her husband) and jumped over the chain link fence separating the two properties.

Frustrated muttering drifted out of the trailer, indicating that Ron was home and probably trying to decipher some mysterious signals of some sort.

Trevor didn't bother knocking, as he was the type that preferred to drop by unannounced.

He looked around, taking in the bizarre scene.

Tables and chairs were overturned, the sofa had been ripped to shreds, and Ron himself was crouched over his mattress, stabbing it repeatedly with a large kitchen knife.

"Ron, you paranoid fuck! Did you get into my meth supply again? You weren't smoking the merchandise, were you?" Trevor accused, making Ron jump and turn around.

"No, Trevor. It's not that, it's the lizard people! They're here, and they're planning their attack!" Ron shouted, waving the knife around manically while he did so. "Last night, when I was out, they came and put a recording device somewhere in my house! They've been tracking me!"

"That's really far fetched, even for you."

"Go ahead and doubt me all you want, that doesn't make this threat any less serious."

"Whatever. The reason I came over is because I made a promise to someone last night, but I can't remember it. As you know very well, I'm a man of my word. If I say I'm going to hang out with you, I'm going to do it. If I say I'm going to blow up the meth labs of my competitors even if they're still inside, I'm going to do it!"

"Right, boss! That's why I'm glad to be your business partner. But in case you're wondering, you didn't promise me anything last night."

"I didn't?"

"No. I would have remembered."

"Well then, I'm going back to my trailer for some meditation slash masterbation while I figure this out. Have fun with your conspiracy theories."

The meditation slash masterbation session didn't help jog his memory, but it did help to narrow things down. If he hadn't made a promise to Michael, Franklin, Ron, or Lamar, that really only left one person.

"Trevor, it's two a clock, are you ready to go?" A moronic voice made itself known in the room.

Trevor looked up and saw Wade standing in front of him. "Go where?" he asked.

Before he got an answer, he realized with horror that his friend was wearing full clown face makeup and was holding a bottle of orange flavored Faygo.

It was then that it all came back to him, filling him with dread and regret. Something truly terrible and scarring was about to go down, and it was too late to back out now.

After a smoking session last night, he had promised to take Wade to the 2013 Los Santos 'Gathering of the Juggalos', a task he never would have agreed to if he had been sober.

"AHHHHH! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!" he shouted and banged his head on the coffee table several times for good measure.

"What's the matter, Trevor? You seem upset." Wade commented.

"I am upset! I have to take you to the Gathering of the Juggalos, and I FUCKING HATE JUGGALOS!" Trevor snarled at him.

Wade gasped and dropped his Faygo. "You...you hate me? But...I thought we were friends..." he stammered, looking very much like he was going to cry at any second.

Trevor sighed, "No, no. We are friends. You're the exception. I hate all Juggalos except you. You're a moron with limited uses, but there's something about you that I simply can't hate. You're special."

"Yay! I'm special!" Wade exclaimed and excitedly bounded out the door.

This gave Trevor a few minutes to prepare himself for the task at hand. It wasn't going to be easy, and it would most definitely test his patience as well as his sanity, which was already questionable.

As a matter of fact, it was going to make the Union Depository job look like a walk in the park. Taking on the FIB was nothing compared to having to take his mentally challenged friend to a place over crowded with one of the few types of people he hated even more than the feds.

There was no use dawdling, it was time to face this beast head on. Reluctantly, he walked outside and strode over to his truck, but he didn't get in.

"Wade, I have two things to say before we go. Come over here by me." he instructed.

Obediently, Wade got out of the truck and went over to him.

"First thing's first. You stay by me at all times. At worst, people will think you're my son, and that I'm one of those out of touch fathers in a desperate attempt to seem cool. If you stray too far from me, I'm putting this on you." Trevor said, holding up a pink leash and collar adorned with rhinestones.

"I didn't know they made leashes for people." Wade mused.

"Secondly, I'm risking a lot for you to have a good time. I know for a fact that I'm going to have a horrible time, and I'll probably have clown related nightmares for weeks after this. You owe me a favor."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to give me a blowjob, right here, right now."

To prove his point, Trevor dropped his pants.

Wade shrugged and got down on his knees. After all, there wasn't much he would't do if it meant he got to go to the Gathering.

Over in Los Santos, Michael was spending the afternoon lounging about the house, snacking, doing a bit of daytime drinking, and unsuccessfully trying to get Franklin to like vintage romance movies.

"Come on, its a classic. Keep your mind open." Michael argued.

"Nah, it was boring. It would have been better if you actually saw him fucking her. I don't like the implication, show me the tits." Franklin countered.

"Don't get me wrong, I like tits as much as the next guy, but sometimes less is more. Plus, they had some really strict rules back then on what you could and couldn't do in the movies. They couldn't even say hell or damn." Michael said.

"Whatever, I still thought it was lame. It was way too sappy and touchy feely. If I wanted to watch that shit, I'd still be living with my aunt." Franklin said as a pried the bowl of potato chips away from Michael.

While he detested the corny movies that Michael seemed to love so much, he did have a guilty viewing pleasure. He was a closeted Brony, and kept all his My Little Pony DVDs, collectables and plush dolls kept in a safe in the back of his closet.  
It was his deepest, darkest secret, and he had vowed to keep it a secret from all of his friends, especially Lamar. If that loudmouth ever found out that he was a My Little Pony fanboy, his reputation would be ruined.

Midway though the next movie, Michael's iphone rang, and he saw that Trevor was calling him. He considered letting it go to voicemail, but picked it up after five or six rings.

"T, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now." he explained.

"No, Michael! This can't wait, I need you to help me NOW!"

"Is that genuine panic I hear in your voice? I think it is!"

"Fuck you! I'm not in the mood for any bullshit! I'm freaking out over here!"

"Where are you?"

There was a significant pause in the conversation before Trevor finally said, "I'm...I'm at the 2013 Los Santos Gathering of the Juggalos."

"Jesus Christ, T! Why didn't you say so?!" Michael leapt about three feet into the air, knocking his drink over in the process.

"I promised Wade I'd take him. He loves these assholes, who knows why. I'm just trying to be a good friend, but I'm really regretting it. The urge to kill is rapidly rising."

"Okay, just try to remain calm."

"I can't make that promise. These people are complete animals! I just saw some chick take a shit in a guy's mouth, and he ate it! Even I draw the line at eating poop, Michael! These people make ME look sane!"

"Don't worry, me and Franklin will be right there to get you. Once we make our escape, we can figure out how to neutralize this threat."

Michael hung up and paced around for a few seconds, unsure of how to go about this.

"What's going on? It's not the FIB, is it? I thought we got rid of those motherfuckers." Franklin asked.

"It's worse! The Dark Carnival is here, in OUR town! We have to go there and get Trevor before he flips out and tries to take them out when he's not properly equipped."

"How? Those people are psychos, man! How the hell are we going to kill them all?"

Michael nervously paced around for another minute before he was struck with an idea.

"I have a plan. Get in the car kid, we're going to Ammu-Nation." 


	2. Chapter 2

Instead of careening down the wrong side of the road like usual, Michael drove like a respectable, law abiding citizen for once. There were two reasons for this.

One was the simple fact that he didn't have time to deal with the police tonight, which could result in his downfall, seeing that the trunk of his car was filled with explosives. The slightest tap could set the whole thing off.

He drove cautiously until he arrived at the arena housing the Dark Carnival. Though the festival itself was indoors, there were still many Juggalos outside, engaging in many filthy activities that most sane people wouldn't do.

He slowly cruised around the parking lot, trying locate his psychotic best friend, until he was interrupted by Franklin prodding him.

"Yo Mike, check that out." he pointed over to the left.

Michael looked over and almost burst out laughing at what he saw.

Six obese cops were crowded around a cop car, in the process of demolishing a massive box of donuts. A second unopened box sat on the hood of the car.

"Man, those guys reinforce every negative stereotype about the one time! If that's the security this joint has, this should be a breeze." Franklin observed.

"You can say that again. They won't even notice us. Okay, I see Trevor's truck up there, so get ready to set the plan in motion." Michael said as he continued forward.

Trevor, who had been hiding in the bed of his truck so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with any more Juggalos, motioned for them to come over and park in the adjacent space.

"Took you guys long enough! I'm going crazy here!"

"Take it easy, T. We had to pick up the supplies, as we've got a plan that can't fail." Michael said as he and Franklin stepped out of the car.

"Uh, T, man? I think your friend might be dead or something." Franklin motioned to Wade, who was unconscious, wearing a pink dog collar with a leash attached, and laying face down on the ground.

"No, he'll be fine. I intentionally got him beyond wasted so he won't remember that it was us who killed the members of Insane Clown Posse." Trevor commented.

"That's oddly caring of you." Michael said. "I guess not even you can be psychotic all the time."

"I don't have what you have, you over privileged ass. Unlike you, I don't have any kids. I don't even have a pet. Wade is both of those things to me. An adopted son and a pet, sometimes both at the same time."

At the sound of his name, Wade shifted and sat up. "Did somebody call me?" he asked.

Instead of waiting for an answer, he unsteadily made his way over to Michael, stared at him for a minute, then proceeded to lick his hand until it was jerked away.

"What the fuck?" Michael asked, wiping his hand on his pants.

"See what I mean? Just like a dog. He'll let you pet him if you want." Trevor said.

"I'll pass. Anyway, onto the plan. We're going to destroy the entire arena."

"Yeah, we're going to blow it up. We'll sneak inside, plant these bombs, and detonate them with the remote." Franklin said, beckoning them to come over to the rear of the car.

He opened up the trunk, revealing twenty sticky bombs and a computerized remote to detonate them with.

"Yes! Blowing it up! I love it!" Trevor shouted enthusiastically.

"We do it the stealthy way. Get in, plant the bombs, and get out, no screwing around. Which means that if a juggalo tries to start a fight with you, punch him once and move on. No going into rampage mode, we don't have time for it. Now, are you guys ready?" Michael inquired.

"Fuck yeah I'm in!" Franklin agreed.

"Yeah, let's blow up some clowns! Who's laughing now, assholes?!" Trevor added.

The three of them distributed the bombs amongst themselves while leaving the detonator in the glove compartment.

Slipping into the arena was easy, as the six fat cops were still busy with their donuts, failing to notice the three dangerous criminals entering the building.

"Let's split up, it'll look less suspicious. Meet back here in ten minutes." Michael instructed.

They parted ways, each one slinking off in a different direction. Bombs were placed strategically, underneath the stage, on support beams, and anywhere near gasoline or open flames.

Since a majority of the concert goers were shitfaced drunk, too high to move or both, none of them had noticed what was going on.

Once all the bombs were in place, the trio regrouped at the venue's entrance before heading back to the parking lot.

"So who gets to do the honors of detonating these things?" Franklin asked.

"ME! The fact that there will be tons of dead clowns in there makes me happy!" Trevor interjected.

"Not so fast! Why do you get to do it? I'm the one who bought all this stuff!" Michael countered.

"Because I'm terrified of clowns. If I do it, it will feel like a personal victory for me."

"I'm the one who planned this, so I should do it!"

"NO! Fuck you, Michael! You're always so selfish!"

"Fuck you too, Trevor! I may be selfish but you're an asshole!"

Franklin sighed. While the two of them had been getting along much better ever since the Union Depository job, it was moments like these that made him somewhat regret befriending two middle aged white guys with a very dysfunctional friendship.

"Both of you shut the fuck up, or I'm going to bust a cap in BOTH of your asses! Man, if this is what middle age is like, I should just kill myself!"

Michael and Trevor, who were ready to strangle each other, stopped and sat back at this outburst.

"That's more like it. Since we can't decide who gets to hit the button, we should all hit it at the same time, alright?" Franklin proposed.

"Good idea. Let's go back to my car and get it." Michael said.

Trevor sulked, but went along with the idea and followed them.

They had only taken a few steps when the a deafening explosion rocked the arena, causing the entire thing to blow apart, knocking all three of them off their feet. The ground shook as chunks of flaming metal, concrete, wood, and singed body parts rained down into the parking lot.

In a matter of seconds, the arena had been reduced to a blazing pile of debris, littered with thousands of charred Juggalo corpses.

As the air cleared, Michael picked himself up and looked at Trevor in an accusing fashion.

"Really, T? I thought we were going to do this together."

"It wasn't me, I don't have the remote. And before you ask, it wasn't Franklin either."

As they walked back to Michael's car to figure out what had just happened, they discovered that Wade was sitting in the driver's seat, and was repeatedly pressing the detonate button on the remote.

"I found this phone in the glove compartment, but I think it's broken." he said as he continued to prod the remote. "I heard a loud noise, did I do something bad?"

"Absolutely not, my simple minded friend. You did good. I think a certain Trevor Phillips industries employee just got himself a raise." Trevor praised.

Wade, who was still quite intoxicated, beamed with pride, then quickly got bored of playing with the remote, deciding to try and eat it instead.

"Though I'm disappointed that I didn't get to set the bombs off, we can all rest assured knowing that Los Santos doesn't have a clown infestation problem anymore. I propose we go to my house to celebrate." Trevor said.

"Sounds good to me." Franklin agreed. "Mike, you down?"

"Sure, why not? Besides, it's not like this night could get any weirder." Michael said.

Famous last words.

************************************************** **************

The first thing the guys noticed upon arriving at Trevor's trailer was the trail of bloody foot prints leading to the front door, the door handle covered in the excess.

"I think somebody has some explaining to to. Nobody gets to kill on my property except me!" Trevor snarled to himself. "I'd say it's time for a four versus one interrogation."

A very bizarre sight awaited them inside. They followed the footprints over to the sofa, and all four were taken aback to see Ron sitting on the couch, completely drenched in blood and hunks of gore from head to toe. In fact, the only part of him that wasn't slathered in coagulating blood was the inside of his ever present safari hat.

Wade dropped down beside him and licked his arm. "You taste salty."

Nobody said anything for several minutes. Instead, everybody just stared at the man on the couch, as it was unclear as to weather or not he was traumatized.

Finally acknowledging their presence, Ron wiped some gore off his glasses before speaking.

"A couple more of the O'Neils dropped by about an hour ago. Yes, that's right. There were more of them. You weren't here, so I took care of them for you." he said in a very calm fashion.

"Excellent! I'm impressed, Ron. I didn't know you had it in you. I take it you blew them up?" Trevor praised.

"Not quite." Ron stood up and walked over to Trevor, standing almost uncomfortably close. He smirked sadistically, revealing that he even had bits of gore in between his teeth.

It was a very creepy sight coming from someone who was usually such a timid person.

"You want to know how I killed them, boss?"

"Sure. Do indulge me."

"There were three of them, so I lured them over to my house. First I blew out their knees so they couldn't escape. Then, I hung them upside down, stabbed them repeatedly, ripped out some of their intestines, and slowly sawed their heads off. As the finale, I drank their blood as it poured from their severed throats. And I did it all with this." he boasted as he held up the blood soaked carving knife in his hand.

"Uh... I think you might have gone a bit far." Trevor said and took a step back.

There was a hint of nervousness in his voice. It was just a trace, but it was enough for Michael to pick up on.

"You creepy fuck! I knew there was something weird about you! I just knew it!" he pointed an accusatory finger at Ron. "You stay away from us, or I'll put the end of my shotgun in your mouth. You understand?"

"Mike, the dude's fifty and has a bad knee, I think it would be pretty easy to run away from him. Well, I could anyway. I could outrun all of you." Franklin assured.

"Did you not hear what he just said? The guy is a serial killer! Sure, I've killed hundreds of people, but I didn't torture them like that."

"I thought now was as good a time as any to act out my inner most violent murder fantasies. Do you know why?" Ron asked.

Nobody responded.

"I said, do you know why?!" he asked again, this time in a much more aggressive manner.

"Because the O' Neils are assholes?" Wade guessed.

"Yes, but that's not the main reason. The world as we know it is ending. The lizard people are on their way! There will only be a few at first, but more will come!"

"Lizard people? You have completely lost it." Michael said. "I've had enough bullshit for one night, I just want to go home. T, F, I'll see you guys later."

"Aren't you going to give me a ride home?" Franklin asked.

He made a move to follow Michael towards the door, but was distracted by a sudden humming noise.

It was faint at first, but it quickly became louder as the seconds passed. It didn't sound like the buzzing of the fridge or any other appliance. As improbable as it seemed, it genuinely sounded like there was some type of air craft hovering over the trailer.

A bright light suddenly filled the trailer as the humming became even louder.

"SHIT! It's the military! How the fuck did they find us?!" Franklin exploded.

"Great, this is just great! You know, none of this would have happened if I had just ignored Trevor's phone call." Michael said.

The mysterious aircraft slightly shifted its path, moving past the house and towards the road. What ever it was, it was flying low, as it was causing gravel and dust to fly in every direction.

"Ron, check to see if that's a military aircraft." Trevor instructed.

"No, you do it." Ron defied.

"Why should I? You're the closest one to the window."

"Trevor, YOU look out the window, or I'll cut your head off, shit on your corpse, dismember you and mail the pieces to your mother!" Ron shouted and firmly pressed the knife to Trevor's throat.

Trevor looked down uneasily as a small trickle of blood flowed from the cut. He decided not to question why Ron was suddenly standing up to him and obeyed.

"Okay, okay, you got it. I'll look out the window." he stammered.

He peered through the shades at the strange hover craft that had landed across the street.

It looked somewhat like a sleek military plane, but larger and painted silver instead of camo. It had a very futuristic look to it, as it had rounded edges and many colored, flashing lights on its exterior.

A panel on the side of the ship slid open, and a set of stairs unfolded, stretching downwards.

Once the stairs touched the ground, the inhabitants of the ship revealed themselves.

Upon sight of them, Trevor's jaw dropped.

"Guys, you should probably come see this..."

Michael, Franklin and Wade joined him at the window, only to be just as surprised as he was.

Anthropomorphic lizards in yellow jumpsuits were getting out of the ship. They had pale green scales, and looked very much like crocodiles walking on two legs. Each one had some sort of extra terrestrial firearm, and they put them to use by shooting all the coyotes and deer in the vicinity.

The guns appeared to shoot small balls of plasma, having approximately the same damage effect as the average shotgun.

"Well fuck me with a ten foot pole. There really are lizard people. This is unbelievable, I just want to go home and get drunk." Michael whined to himself.

He turned away from the window and scoured the trailer in search of some alcohol. Since none of his preferred types of high class booze were present, he had to settle for a cheap bottle of beer.

Ron turned towards Trevor and addressed him.

"I think you owe me an apology for constantly doubting me." he said.

"I'm sorry, Ron. From now on, I'll listen to your conspiracy theories." Trevor said. "Now, moving on. There is no way I'm going to let these scaly assholes kill me or blow up my house. What do you say we go to my office and pick up some heavy artillery?"

"I'm down! I say we kill these fools, steal their ship and take it for a joyride. Man, I can't wait to see the jealousy on Lamar's sorry ass face when I tell him I stole a fucking spaceship! Let's go get some grenade launchers!" Franklin said overzealously.

"I can get those! Five grenade launchers, coming up! I'll make a phone call, and we can pick them up at the office. Wade, you come with me." Ron said.

"Oh! Can we stop for ice cream?" Wade pleaded.

"Not until we kill all the lizard people." Ron replied.

He took a quick glance out the window to make sure that the lizard people were still distracted with massacring the wildlife, then the two of them darted out the front door.

Trevor leered over Michael and snatched the beer away from him. "You ready for another adventure, Michael? This is going to be good! This is going to be even better than killing clowns! Ron is going to get us grenade launchers! Grenade launchers, Michael! So are you in or what?"

Michael sighed. Before tonight, everything had been going so well. Part of him wished he had ignored the phone call that started this entire fiasco, but another part of him really missed the explosive crime fueled action that had been missing from his life for the past several months.

"Come on, you can't pussy out on me! Now are you going to help us kill the aliens, or are you going to sit here all night getting drunk and feeling sorry for yourself?" Trevor pried.

As much as he'd rather get drunk that fight lizard people, Michael knew what needed to be done.

"T, tell Ron that I want acid rounds in mine." 

I've gone over this and revised it in addition to fixing the format. I've also decided that I'll write a third chapter.


End file.
